The Case of the Dying Bride
by LittlePippin76
Summary: Case fic. John and Sherlock (and Rosie) are away at the retreat wedding of a very close friend. When the arrive, they find that all is not well with the happy couple, and they are asked to investigate a crime that happened there three years before.
1. Chapter 1

**OK – my second attempt at a case fic + Rosie. This one took a long time as I found plot-hole after plot-hole. I think I've patched them all up, and I hope that you still find it enjoyable.**

 **Following feedback, I've attempted to improve the descriptive/pictorial bits and provide a proper ending.**

 **Pip.**

* * *

Chapter 1

'I think you're taking these roads too slowly,' Sherlock opined.

'I think I'm taking them at exactly the right speed,' John replied. The roads were narrow and winding, and the black car was, at Sherlock's insistence, bigger than they strictly needed.

'You should know that British cars have their speedometers set at slightly above the accurate propulsion rate of the car,' Sherlock went on.

'And you should know that I'm more inclined to believe the car, the car manufactures, and just about anyone else rather than an impatient non-driver.'

'I'm not a non-driver!'

'I don't see you doing much of the driving now,' John muttered. He negotiated a tricky junction half way up a steep hill.

'I've explained to you that I will do the driving towards London. Just not away from it. Not unless it's for a case or something actually important like that.'

'I'm pretty sure a wedding is important.'

'Then your priorities are skewed.' Sherlock sighed, pained and conciliatory. 'I suppose, if you insist, each time we turn and face East, I will switch places with you.'

John bit his tongue in the hope that his silence would shut Sherlock the hell up.

There was a blessed three minutes of peace.

'I don't know why he has to get married so far away!'

'Because this is where Louisa and her family come from.'

'Louisa?'

'Greg's fiancé. I need to concentrate on the road for a bit so...'

'Why has he made you best man?'

'Because he likes me,' John said, shortly.

'I don't see how that's possible.'

'Thanks,' John muttered.

'No, don't be like that. _I_ like you! _I_ think you're great! I just don't necessarily see how you'd be to other people's tastes.'

John ground his teeth.

'What is the point of all of this anyway?' He waved his hand vaguely, as if questioning the point of the world in general. 'Lestrade and... Lucy?'

'Louisa.'

'...have been coinhabiting perfectly satisfactorily together in London. I don't see any reason why that should change! Weddings are not only a ridiculous and unnecessary expense, but also annoying things to unfairly put your friends through. Pointless dressing up and buying gifts and, in general, utterly wasteful of everyone's time.'

'You liked my wedding though?'

'Your wedding was redeemed by virtue of having a murderer at it.'

'Jesus, God!' John muttered.

'No, it was fine. Mary and I worked very hard to...'

'I swear to God, Sherlock!' John shouted. 'I'm on the point of pulling over and leaving you by the side of the road!'

There was a pained silence, but not for long before Sherlock muttered, 'Touchy.'

The respite John got was a wonderful seven minutes this time.

'How is Rosie still asleep?' Sherlock asked, peering between the seats at her.

'Her travel sickness pills make her sleepy.'

'She gets travel sick?'

'How did you not know that? She's hurled on every trip that has taken us more than half an hour! Well, the first three before I started dosing her up. Why do you think Mrs Hudson didn't lend us her nice car?'

'Because she's mean.'

'How far off are we?' he snapped.

Sherlock hit a button on the SatNav.

'Seven minutes to your destination,' it intoned.

'Thank God for that,' John said.

'She's going to be a nightmare to put to bed tonight,' Sherlock said.

John was about to hold true to his threat, but then they rounded the corner and the majestic beauty of the Great Roylott Hotel came into view. It was an old stately home, the last remaining property of the Earl of Roylott and his family, though now turned into a hotel. A luxury hotel.

They climbed up the steep hill towards it as it sat proudly on a cliff, looking over the sea and the small town of Little Roylott below.

It was truly stunning. It was made in the pale red/brown stone of the area, wide fronted with four full length, wide bay windows on either side of the door. The entrance was flanked by Doric pillars, with a wide stairway up to it and tall, glass doors. These were both flung open now, and Lestrade was standing between them with his hands in his chino pockets, looking slightly embarrassed by the opulence around him.

John had idly looked up the prices of holding a wedding at this particular hotel, and it came to several times the cost of his just to hire the room. If he'd had the option of getting married here for free, he would have leapt at the chance, even if he'd have to drag Sherlock kicking and screaming to that one too.

He glanced at Sherlock now. He was grateful that he hadn't questioned why or when he'd gratefully RSVPd to the event with the appropriate level of best wishes and a rather nice card.

They parked in the front and were instantly set upon by a valet who took the keys straight from John and a concierge insisting that he would unload the car for them and take their bags to their rooms.

It had been a while since John had been treated with such honour. On all previous occasions, he'd been aware that any that came his way was because it was rebounding off the great detective. This time, he happily accepted that this was because he was best man at the wedding of the owner of the hotel. He'd been gifted a week-long stay (something else that he hoped Sherlock wouldn't notice was unusual). Lestrade and Louisa had insisted on him having the presidential suite rather than taking it themselves, instead choosing to stay at a secondary property, a simple seaside cottage that they owned together in the town.

John waved at him while the concierge hurried around like a bee.

'I should probably at least unload the little girl,' he said, and he opened the door and woke Rosie up. She climbed out looking woolly and wobbly.

'Why do we have all these things anyhow,' Sherlock muttered to him, watching the bags go in. 'It's so pointless. I honestly think that your handgun and a toothbrush would have sufficed.'

'Greg!' John said, slightly too loudly as he walked away from Sherlock. 'How's everything?'

'OK I think. I mean, most of it seems to be happening around me which is leaving me a little anxious. On the other hand, I think I'd be more of a hindrance than a help.'

'It'll be fine,' John said. 'At the end of the day, turning up and saying 'I do' at the appropriate time is pretty much all you need to do.'

'Yeah. I can probably just about manage that.'

'How's Louisa holding up?'

There was the hint of a cloud passing over his face now, but he smiled it away. 'She's fine, thank you.'

'All brides get a bit stressed before their wedding,' John said.

'Oh, I know. I just feel so bad for her, having to sort all of this stuff out. I think that being back here freaks her out a little bit too. She's never really been comfortable with owning a hotel. Part of me wishes we'd just eloped to save her from it.'

'Yes, you definitely should have,' Sherlock said, mooching over.

'Thanks for coming, Sherlock,' Lestrade said. Sherlock did at least take the offered hand for a shake, but he turned to John.

'Was this optional?' he asked.

'Let's just get inside,' John said.

'How about you, Rosie?' Lestrade asked. 'Are you ready to wear your beautiful dress?'

'I am, but _Daddy_ won't let me.'

John closed his eyes to give a short prayer for patience.

He felt substantially better when Lestrade led him into his room. It was indeed the presidential suite, and it was stunning. Lestrade gave him a small grin of pride.

The bed was a proper four-poster, made from mahogany if John was any judge. There was a proper three-piece suite and a big screen TV, should he feel the need to quieten Rosie with cartoons. There was a proper, well-polished dining table. With proper dining chairs. The ceilings were high and the windows were huge. He stepped into the massive bathroom with its whirlpool tub. There were seven, luxury bath-foams sitting in a nice line in colour order by the side of it. He looked forward to trying those. All of them. Possibly all today.

He came back to the main room to find Rosie and Sherlock boggling at it. The concierge opened John's suit-bag and hung it in the walk-in wardrobe before withdrawing with a little bow and leaving the room.

'Well,' Lestrade said. 'Is it all right for you?'

'It's amazing!' John replied.

'Room service have been instructed to bring you whatever you might need.'

'Seriously, are you sure about this?'

'Absolutely sure. I wasn't sure whether to put Rosie's bed in here, or if you'd want her in the adjoining room, so I went for both.'

Rosie took one look at the single bed in the corner of the room.

'I'm not sleeping in the little bed,' she announced. 'This one will be my bed.'

She scrambled up the four-poster.

'Not with your shoes!' John said, and he darted to remove them.

'Your room is across the way,' Lestrade told Sherlock. 'It's one of the old servant's quarters, I'm afraid, but I figured you'd want to be close to John to help with Rosie.'

Sherlock's jaw dropped. He was so shocked he didn't even seem able to answer, which was a fine and glorious thing.

'You just wanted a handgun and a toothbrush, remember?' John said.

'I'm only kidding,' Lestrade said. 'We've put you in another suite, the er… the Earl of Roylett's suite or something. It is just across the way, so it overlooks the hills rather than the sea, but I'm sure you'll make do. I'll leave you to settle in now. See you later.'

He left them alone. John found his most smug look to give to Sherlock.

'I'm sure your suite is perfectly lovely,' he said.

'I'm sure it's _fine_.'

'Let's see this view.' John there were three, large picture windows, one of which had a door leading onto a short balcony. John glanced at Rosie and decided to keep this closed. It was a blustery day, and the sea and the beach below were being delightfully dramatic; the sea green-grey with white horses all the way out, crashing against some of the distant boulders and running across the bay into rockpools. The sand was flat and looked excellent for building sandcastles when he got Rosie down there.

'It's a little bit wavy,' Rosie said, suspiciously.

'OK!' John said. He scooped her up from behind and thrust her into Sherlock's arms, who he then turned on the spot and propelled towards the door. 'I'll see you both later, OK?' He closed the door firmly on them.

'Well that was rude,' Sherlock said, on the other side of it.

'What shall we do now?' Rosie asked in despair, as though she had full plans laid out which relied on her staying in the room with John.

'I don't know! I've a good mind to take you out and feed you ice-cream just to show him.'

'Yes!' She said. 'We should definitely do that. So there.'


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Sherlock realised quite quickly that his long wool coat, his suit and his Italian leather shoes were not quite the most sensible attire for the beach. He made do by taking the coat and his jacket off and folding them onto a rock that was just high enough not to risk either sand or sea getting in them. The shoes came off too, and were placed neatly next to Rosie's little red ones. There was a balled sock in each one of the four. He had rolled up the bottoms of both his and Rosie's trousers, and they were currently squatting side-by-side on the edge of a rockpool, gently poking an anemone to watch it close up, then open and wave its arms around.

Rosie seemed very interested in picking up the beautiful starfish from the bottom of it, but Sherlock had advised her against, noting that the water was a little deeper than her arm's reach.

'Have you found one with a guppy?' A voice said behind them and they both looked up.

The woman was petite and blond. Sherlock's usual method of working out whether a woman was attractive was to watch John's reaction to them. In John's absence, he decided that she was probably considered by some to be attractive.

'What's a guppy?' Rosie asked.

'A little fish. A little fat fish. When I was a little girl, we'd try to be the first to find a rockpool with a guppy in it. The person who got it got to have the extra sweet.'

'Will I get a sweet if I find one?'

'I think you've had enough sugar for now,' Sherlocks said.

'No,' Rosie replied. 'I haven't yet.'

Sherlock stretched himself upright and looked at the woman. Then he wasn't entirely sure what to say to her. He was searching for the appropriate words to suggest that he and Rosie were perfectly happy looking through the rockpools alone, and had no need to find a guppy in them. But he couldn't quite land on the ones that weren't rude. Then he quickly took in the woman's engagement ring and her familiarity with the beach and the suggested childhood here, and he realised that this must be Lestrade's bride-to-be.

'Ah, Lu... cy?' He asked, just wildly stabbing at it.

'Louisa,' she replied smiling.

'I'm pleased to meet you. My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my niece, Rosie.'

'I know Louisa,' Rosie said, blinking up at him.

'Ah. So you do. Of course. There will have been dress fittings, I suppose, and all of that sort of nonsense.'

Louisa laughed. It was a gentle, happy laugh. She didn't have a history of failed marriages, hidden children, a criminal record, any significant lies about her, and was what other people might consider attractive. She was a little on the young side for Lestrade, but she would do nicely. He wasn't sure whether to shake her hand or whether he was supposed to do the silly cheek kiss.

He was saved from both by a sudden splash as Rosie fell into the rockpool, apparently taking his temporary lack of attention as an opportunity to get her star.

'Shit!' He muttered, quickly scooping her straight out and getting his own shirt-sleeves soaked in the process. 'Oh, John's going to kill me.'

'He won't though,' John said, coming up behind him. 'He'll just smuggly point out he predicted this very eventuality and give you clean clothes to put her into.'

Rosie beamed up at him. 'Daddy! I fell in!'

'So you did.' He handed Sherlock the bag. 'Louisa, how are you?' He opted for the cheek-kiss. 'And, more to the point, how's our bet going?'

'He got there eventually, but I think I was deduced rather than remembered. So, I'll buy you the drink.'

'We've met?' Sherlock asked.

'Twice. Or was it three times?' John said.

'Three times,' Louisa said, 'but once while I was just leaving the bar, so we'll call it twice.'

'Please don't be offended,' Sherlock said, trying to hold Rosie still and push her wet and salty legs into a dry pair of joggers. 'I forgot a whole sister once.'

Louisa frowned at John who merely shrugged back.

'Whereas I haven't seen my sister in over six years, and she somehow manages to be in the forefront of my mind,' John added.

'Oh dear,' Louisa said. She shook her head. 'My sister died three years ago.'

It was clearly intended to be in solidarity, but John was horrified.

'Oh God! I'm so sorry!'

'No, no,' she said, covering her mouth. 'I really didn't mean that to sound like sibling one-upmanship. It just came out wrong!'

'I'm still sorry,' John said.

'It's just we were talking about sisters,' she said, morose.

'It really is fine.' John glanced up and down the beach. 'Look, I was just coming down to get these two because it's getting late and...'

'No it's not!' Rosie put in. He quietened her by placing a finger on her head.

'We need to have dinner,' he finished. 'Would you like to come and eat with us?'

She checked a delicate gold watch on her slender wrist.

'I'd like to,' she said. 'Let me see if Greg wants to come too. Will we eat at the hotel?'

'I was fully intending to,' John said. I want to try out the outstanding restaurant as is boasted about on your website.'

She laughed. 'We'll meet you there then. Give me half an hour.'

She pulled out her phone and walked away from them to talk.

'Poor thing,' John said. 'I wondered why she'd gone so quiet.'

'Yes,' Sherlock said, dismissively. 'How does one put socks on on a beach without getting them full of sand?' He tried dipping his foot in the rockpool which took the worst off, but still left him grainy.

'You don't,' John replied. 'You get them full of sand. The lovely feel of sand between your toes.'

'But I don't want sand between my toes,' Sherlock said.

'I don't want sandy toes either!' Rosie piped up.

'You'll both live. If we go up now you've got time to wash the sand from your feet and anywhere else and we'll put on clean clothes for dinner.'


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The restaurant was on the first floor overlooking the sea. The waitress had taken one look at Louisa and hurried to guide them to a large, round table in an alcove in the corner affording them the best sea view and a little bit of privacy. Rosie was too big for a high-chair now, but she'd been given a cushion to perch on and was sitting on it like royalty. She was still getting wriggly though. Not least because their desert plates were just being cleared away, and she really felt there ought to be another course, and that various people at the table had done adequate sharing.

A suited gentleman approached the table, and John got the horrible impression that he was about to be told off about her behaviour.

'I trust everything was as it should be?' he asked Louisa.

'Thank you, Henry, it was all perfect.'

'Let me know if there's anything else I can do. We're all poised and ready.'

'You see, the trick to running a hotel is to have a truly excellent hotel manager,' Louisa said to them.

'And a world class chef,' Lestrade put in.

She laughed and poked him on the arm. 'You only like her because she'll cook you a steak sandwich when you show up at midnight.'

'If she was responsible for this meal,' John said, 'then she's certainly well worth her pay.'

'She is indeed wonderful,' Henry said, 'We're very lucky to have her. How are you?' he asked, giving Louisa's shoulder a rub.

'I'm fine, honestly. Everything is completely on track. I feel a lot better now half the wedding party has arrived.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' He nodded to Sherlock. 'Just give me a call if I can make your stay more comfortable.' He didn't disturb them further.

'I'm amazed Henry's still with us, to be honest,' Louisa said. 'There have been so many changes since he arrived. I think grandpa took him on when I was about two or three, not as a manager straight off, but he came up through the ranks. I think he's worked in every department.'

'That's probably why he's so good,' Lestrade said, shrugging.

'He's certainly popular,' Louisa said. 'He was with Dad anyhow. Hasn't managed to get on so well with Mother.'

'Daddy,' Rosie whined. 'I can't find my programme.' He looked at his phone. It had been playing Rosie cartoons to keep her quiet while the rest of them chatted. The battery was now entirely run down, but Sherlock was already setting his up for her. She slunk down under the table to watch it.

'To be fair,' Lestrade said. 'I think most people struggle to get on with your mother.'

John glanced at him. It was pretty unusual practice to slate your fiancé's family this early on, but Louisa didn't seem to mind. She just took on a distant, sorrowful look.

'I think she did her best,' she said. 'It can't have been easy, and she does have a good heart.'

'Tell me the circumstances of your sister's death,' Sherlock said.

'Sherlock!' John said. 'For heaven's sake!'

Sherlock looked surprised. 'I apologise,' he said. 'I thought we were at that part of the conversation.'

'We're _never_ at that part of the conversation,' John said.

Sherlock looked around the table. 'I do apologise,' he said. 'It was unthinking and rude.'

'I'll say!' Lestrade said.

Louisa looked at the tablecloth for a while.

'Actually…' she said. She glanced at Lestrade.

'It's OK,' he said.

'No, I'm sure you're right. I'm just being silly.'

Lestrade patted her hand. Sherlock sat forward and put his elbows on the table and rested his head on his hands, attentive.

'We think it's just my imagination,' Louisa said. 'It's because of the stress of the wedding and the time of it and stuff.' She sighed. 'Katie died four days before the day her wedding would have been. I'm sure that you both understand that I've been doing my utmost to make sure my wedding is nothing like hers was going to be.'

'Your sister?' John asked for clarity.

'Obviously,' Sherlock said, giving him a stern look. 'Go on.'

'We were intending to get married in London,' Louisa said. 'Just a small event in Summer rather than a big Winter Wonderland here. It seemed easier, you see, than coming back here and seeing all that Katie would have had.' She gave a small smile. 'Mother said I should get married here though. It's my home. She and Dad got married here, and Katie would have, and, of course, the Roystons who did in the past sort of had to. They owned the church at one point, but we lost most of the land in the nineteenth century until we were just left with the house. My grandfather turned it into the hotel, and my father, obviously, inherited from him. He enjoyed it, I think. So did my mother, and I think my stepmother does too. Katie and I grew up here. We had half of the the third floor, where your suites are, like a kind of flat. It was walled off from the main hotel, but we got to run around in the corridors and play in the lift though.' She smiled to herself. 'I do admit that occasionally we played knock-a-door-run with some of the guests. Mother… as in my stepmother, she didn't half give us a smacking for it. Daddy wasn't impressed by any of us, I think.'

'When did your father remarry?' John asked.

'My mother, actual mother, died when I was six and Katie was just two. She barely remembered Mum at all. It was tough, but then Dad fell in love with Alison. She was there pretty quickly. I don't remember why or when we started calling her mother, but it happened and we suddenly did. But like I say, she did her best. She had a hotel and two errant daughters that she didn't sign up for, and then dad started to get ill too. She nursed him through the worst years of that. He died just as I'd finished university.'

'And you stepmother was left with the hotel?' Sherlock asked.

'No, the hotel became mine and Katie's, but in trust. Not for long though; it was only eighteen months for me. Katie was four extra years. Mother insisted on running the whole thing for us while we got on with university and normal lives. She says that we didn't sign up for it either. We ought to have the choices that everyone else got and not suddenly have to become hoteliers. So, she took over the management.'

'Hence the tension between Henry and her,' Sherlock said.

They went quiet and sat back as the coffee was cleared, Louisa glanced around the room.

'Please, do go on,' Sherlock said, when the waiters had left them again.

'Where was I? Oh yes, Katie's wedding. As I say, we had the third floor. The room where John's suite is, that was my parents' bedroom and our dining room. Sherlock's was mine and the living room. Katie slept in the room that adjoins yours, John. She didn't even take mine when I'd gone to university, and Mother thought it would be a nice thing if we all went back to where we had grown up before her wedding.' She smiled, sadly. 'It was lovely too. Katie would sneak into my room at nights and we'd sit gossiping for hours. When we were children, I mean. So, we did that again then too. Mother wasn't deeply impressed, but she found it funny too. She said, 'girls will be girls' and that was that. The thing is…'

'Daddy,' Rosie emerged again. 'Can we play now?'

'I'm just going to be here for a little longer.'

'Do you want Stars on my phone?' Sherlock asked.

Rosie looked sulky, as though her little computer game, Stars, was only for poor, sad, little babies and was not worth her time.

John could see the exhaustion dripping off her. He took her onto his lap in the hope that she'd be encouraged to stillness and sleep, but she wriggled off and went to sit at the next table on her own. He exchanged a glance with Sherlock.

'Sorry,' John said. 'I didn't mean to interrupt.'

'You didn't. It's fine.'

'You were at the week before your sister's wedding,' Sherlock prompted.

'Oh yes. We'd all come down a week ahead. Richard, her fiancé, he was staying at the hotel in one of the old suites, but we were back in our flat. For the first night, after Katie had gone to her own room, everything was fine. The second night though, she wanted to stay in my bed. She said she'd heard noises the night before that had freaked her out. Obviously, I said of course she could, but a little while later, she shook it off and said she'd probably been imagining it. Then, the next morning, she was just exhausted at breakfast and she told me she'd heard it again…'

'What was the noise?' Sherlock asked.

She looked embarrassed. 'It was a bell. She said it was like the bells you'd expect on Father Christmas' reindeers.' She smiled. 'That's one of the things we did when we were children. We'd lie in my bed, listening for the bells of the reindeers.'

'But she found it alarming?' Sherlock asked.

'She did. I don't quite know why. She heard it that night, and I said she should sleep with me in my room. She stayed with me for a while, but then said she couldn't settle there either, and that she was probably imagining things, and then…' She didn't finish. She just looked towards the window, her eyes full. 'It was in the early hours. Just after dawn, I remember. I heard a noise, and when I got out of my room she was already on the floor in the corridor. Not talking, clearly not able to move. Just terrified eyes, choking and blood pouring from her nose. That's what I remember.' She swiped her eyes. 'Anyhow,' she said, trying to shake her sadness off, 'we decided that we'd take the flat apart and change it into rooms like the rest of the building. I didn't want to live here anymore, and it was too big an area just for Mother…'

'Something else Henry and your mother disagreed on?' Sherlock asked.

'Yes,' she said, ducking her head, embarrassed. 'It wasn't a great discussion. I'm afraid I made an enemy of her when I took his side, though she's forgiven me now. He had the facts and figures, you see, and it does make business sense that a luxury hotel has actual, luxury suites. That's the point, isn't it?'

'Where does she live now?' John asked.

Rosie returned and draped her arms around him, still sulky and stroppy. He hugged her and kissed her head.

'When we built the swimming pool, we'd put a little flat over it,' Louisa answered. 'Originally, it was going to be for Henry and his family, but he gave it up for her.'

'There's a swimming pool?' Rosie said. 'Can we go swimming?'

'We can tomorrow,' John said, brightly. 'That'll be something to do!'

'Can we go now?'

He faced the storm. She didn't even want a positive answer. She wanted to be told no so she could externalise all the mixed-up feelings of exhaustion and anxiety and feeling out of place. He knew he just had to let her. He steeled himself.

'No, not now, darling.'

'But why!'

He took her onto his lap, but she instantly wriggled off him and climbed onto Sherlock. Sherlock did nothing more than prevent her falling off.

'We can't now because it's late,' John said. 'It's bedtime.'

'Noooo!' She didn't kick Sherlock so much as swing her legs and pull away from him. He now held on enough to prevent her doing a mischief to herself.

'OK, I think it's time we got you upstairs,' John said, as cheerfully as he could manage.

Her wails stepped up a notch in volume. He tried to take her from Sherlock but she kicked some more and then turned stiff as a board. It was a pain, when she got like that, because a cuddle-carry would be easier on both of them. Instead, he just popped her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold. She kicked her legs against his chest, but he'd worked out that taking her shoes off made her feet hurt just enough for her to stop doing that.

There was nothing that he could do about the piercing cries though. Despite the fact that he knew that every parent anywhere in the world had gone through this or something similar, he still felt his embarrassment grow as his daughter made out he was destroying her whole world.

The only thing left to do was to take her to bed.

'Poor John,' Lestrade said.

'Yes,' Sherlock said. 'He'll be fine though. Now, in the case of your sister, Katie, was there any pathologist's report?'

'That's the strange thing of it,' Louisa said. 'The coroner's report was that she died from asphyxiation. It was chlorine gas.'

'Chlorine gas?' Sherlock said, shocked.

'Yes. It's crazy isn't it? Chlorine gas, just in her room, nobody else affected, well, nobody else died, but some of us got our eyes and noses full of it. It was awful, so poor Katie...' She needed to take a few seconds then, to centre herself and try to swallow away her tears. 'Her room would have been locked from the inside. But she was gassed.' She wiped her eyes again.

'The door was locked?'

'Yes,' she gave a small smile. 'We lived in a hotel. All the doors were locked at night in case stray guests found themselves on the wrong floor.'

'But the adjoining room between your parents' room and Katie's?'

She shook her head. 'In a moment of teenage rebellion, she pushed a mahogany dresser in front of the door so Dad and Mother couldn't access it. It stayed there. It's still in the room too; the large chest of drawers.'

'So, whoever got into that room must have had a key or been a very adept lockpick.'

'Yes. But she came out and died in the corridor. Nobody else came out with her or after her, and nobody else died in the room.'

'Did anyone go into the room after that you'd found her?'

'I don't know. I don't remember. Yes. Well, not at first. But then yes. Lots of people; ambulance men, police, and Henry was there too, and Richard… it was all a whirl really, and I can barely remember it. I just stayed with Katie. Mother was there, screaming, and the ambulance men and then the police. There were a million people. And Katie.' Her chin wobbled and she wiped her eyes again.

Sherlock sat back and digested this.

'Sherlock…' Lestrade said, bringing him back to the present. 'We would appreciate it if you gave the matter some thought,' he said. 'If that's OK with you.'

'I'm already giving the matter some thought.'

'Good. Thank you.'

'The thing is,' Louisa said, 'and I know I'm probably just being silly because I'm tired and worked up…'

Sherlock frowned at her.

'I think I've been hearing the same bells.'

Lestrade picked her hand up and kissed it.

'We're sure it's fine,' he said. But, you know, a second brain on it would be a nice thing to have.'

'A second brain? Who else is… Oh, you mean you. Then yes, I will certainly but a brain at your disposal. Now, if you wouldn't mind, I'd quite like to go for a walk.'


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

John was left waiting until Rosie just exhausted herself. It wasn't his preferred method of dealing with a tantrum, but he recognised that he just hadn't got there quick enough. The best times were when he could cut it off at the pass before it even happened. Second choice was when he could settle her down within fifteen minutes with calm discussion and, occasionally, bribery. That required her to be receptive to the idea, and she wasn't tonight. Letting her wear herself out wasn't ideal, but it was a damned sight more ideal than the occasions when he lost his temper himself and just shouted back.

Currently, she was still sobbing on his chest while they lay in the big, special four-poster bed. The worn-out grizzling of a child not yet ready to just pass out and go to sleep. She occasionally hiccupped. She'd already screamed so much that she threw up on both of them. Only them though, and not the room, so John considered that a win.

It just getting to eleven-thirty when Sherlock opened his bedroom door. John startled, and Rosie lifted her head to wail at him.

'Sherlock!' she whined.

Sherlock and the grace to look thoroughly guilty about it. John was torn between the desire to throw something heavy and hard at his head and the wish that he'd just come in and help now.

Sherlock opted for coming in without being asked. He lifted Rosie and rested her on his shoulder and gently swayed. John used the opportunity to change his position to make himself more comfortable.

'Shush now, Rosie Petal,' Sherlock crooned. 'Go to sleep now, little girl. I'll come and see you in the morning.' He rocked her some more. 'Go to Daddy now.'

Her eyes were glassy as she slipped from Sherlock's hold to John's. He started again with the hushing and soothing words he'd been repeating for the past half hour.

'Sorry!' Sherlock mouthed.

'Ten minutes,' he mouthed back.

'Text me.'

John nodded and soothed his child.

Eight minutes later she was asleep with her head on his chest, dribbling a pool of droll onto it, with her fist tightly holding his t-shirt. He waited until her hand was slack enough to free himself, then reached for his phone to text Sherlock.

Sherlock appeared ten seconds later.

'I'm so sorry,' he whispered. 'I thought she'd be out.'

'No. That one was a humdinger.'

His nose twitched, picking up the acrid smell of the dirty clothes. 'Poor thing.'

'Mm.'

'Those sickness pills were hardly worth it, and as I started speaking I recognised that that was going to sound more judgemental than I intended.'

John huffed a quiet laugh.

'What do you need?' he asked.

'I wanted to look at the adjoining room,' Sherlock answered. 'It's the sight of the murder three years ago, and even as I started speaking I recognised that that might not be the sort of thing you'd want to hear about the room intended for your daughter.'

John glanced down at her and smiled. 'Well, she'll be in with me anyhow tonight.'

'Do you want me to take over?'

'No. I'll feel better with her here.'

'Shall I take her swimming in the morning while you rest?'

'Not bloody likely!' John whispered. 'I'm not being the person who tells her no while not being the person who gets to tell her yes. Anyhow, get on with your room check so I can go to sleep.'

The door adjoining the two rooms was a little way along the wall where the bed was. It was locked at that time, but Sherlock turned the key and went in, leaving the door open. A lamp was turned on in there, but not the bright, overhead light, presumably for fear of waking Rosie again. There were some very, very quiet knocks on the wall. Sherlock then came back into the main room and crept along the wall away from the bed, stopping in the corner of the room where there was a short chest of drawers. He shook it gently to test its weight, then shuffled and pulled it away from the wall.

John checked that Rosie wasn't going to be disturbed by it, but she was spark out. Then he slipped out of bed to help Sherlock. When they'd pulled it away, they found a vent with an ornate brass grill over it.

'Don't you think that's strange?' He whispered to John.

'Pretty strange,' John said. 'Why wouldn't you have the vent going outside?'

'Yes,' Sherlock said. 'It's an interesting question.' He knelt down and John squatted down to look too. 'I was expecting to see this, but I expecting it to be substantially newer than it was.'

'Why expecting it?'

'Something Greg said, actually. He said that this was the favoured room for parents to be able to hear their child. The walls are pretty solid in this hotel, so to be able to hear a crying or misbehaving child, there would have to be some flaw in the wall. This vent explains it. I expected it to have been put in more recently because the rooms would not be up to fire regulation standard in this state. It would be required to be covered.'

'Maybe it was and the cover was then removed.'

Sherlock crouched right down look closer, then pulled his magnifying glass to look closer still.

'Not three years ago,' he said. 'If a cover was removed that recently, there would have been traces of it. This wall has been renovated several times since any removal.' He sat back on his heels. 'It's too small for a person though, and anyone filling the room with chlorine gas would risk it coming back at them.'

'Chlorine gas! Shit! God. Is it possible that it did, but it gave them a smaller dilution?'

'Yes. Julia...'

'Louisa!'

'Louisa said that her stepmother was sick following Katie's murder. She assumed it was a natural stress reaction, but it might be that some of the poison hit her. Louisa herself seemed to have been mentally disturbed.'

'Yes. She'd just watched her sister horrifically die. That's normal.'

'Is it? Oh. Could stress be an explanation about why she might be hearing the sleigh bells herself at the moment?'

'She's hearing the bells?'

'She certainly thinks she is.'

'God.' John was suddenly depressed. Sherlock was looking at him expectantly though; like he'd like him to get with the programme and work stuff out rather than get upset about it. He shook his head. 'You couldn't get a person through that thing though. I suppose a glass phial could be lobbed through.'

'Could be.'

'You don't think so?'

'No. There would be a risk that a phial would break too close and release gas through the vent.'

'Maybe they sent an animal in,' John said. 'Deliver the poison more closely, like they did with dogs during the Second World War.'

'Dogs?'

'Yes, it was hideous.'

'It's not impossible, I suppose. John, would it disturb your sleep too much if I were to stay in the adjoining room tonight?'

'What are you intending to do in there?'

'Just think.'

'Violin playing, shooting the wall, or just standard silent thinking?'

'The latter, I assure you.'

'Knock yourself out then,' John said. 'I'm going to turn in now though. I'm done to death.' He frowned. 'Hopefully not literally.'

'I'll do my best to ensure that's the case,' Sherlock said.

John settled into bed again. Sherlock came to loom over him.

'I'm probably not going to sleep with you like that,' John said.

'No. I was just wondering, how would you explain to a person that someone wanted to murder their intended wife?'

John blinked a bit. 'Well, I'd sure as hell make sure I got their name right.'

'Yes. Good tip.'

'Is there anything he needs to know tonight?'

'I need him to listen for a sleigh bell.'

'Make sure you call him then.'

'And get Louisa's name right.'

'That too.'

Sherlock lay in the darkness of the room until a little after two, letting his brain run along hundreds of possible roads, stopping and checking off each one as it was shown to be impossible. There were two points that flickered and danced around his head. One was that, in a hotel such as this one, many people had keys for many doors. The family rooms would not be part of the main locking chain, so those skeleton keys were ruled out. There might be, however, other keys. If the hotel cleaners took care of the family rooms, if food was being delivered upstairs and so forth, people would have keys. It was not impossible that someone was able to hide in the room and then leave later in the commotion. But then, that person would have been poisoned by whatever had poisoned Katie. They could have left some devise though, and arrange to have it detonated later.

The second was the vent. The vent was the other thing that made the crime possible without anyone else being in the room. But in this case, the person would have to be the mother, or in the room with the mother. Again, it was possible; there might be any amount of circumstances where the mother either wouldn't or couldn't sound the alarm, of if she was unable to. Difficult though, and if there was an animal going through the vent, they'd have to be sure it wouldn't simply turn around and come back out at them.

All the evidence, as it was, was circumstantial. He closed his eyes to try to work out how to find evidence for a crime that was committed three years ago in this very room, but before it had been renovated and improved and turned into a hotel room.

It occurred to him at about this time that it was a very rare occasion where he might see John and Rosie asleep together, and it was, irrationally, one of his favourite sights in the world. Easily scoring in the top three. He'd actually be hard pressed think of another two. Or one. It was rare though, for fear that John would wake up and (rightly) say it was creepy. He therefore decided to take the opportunity to walk through to John's bathroom and wash up there before coming to bed. He jumped when he turned the bathroom light on and the extractor fan burst into noisy life. He washed quickly before going back to check that the Watsons were still asleep. They were. Rosie sprawled across the bed like a superstar, both arms flung up above her head, a picture of sleeping energy. John was just curled up next to her, one hand holding onto his daughter's.

Sherlock left them to it and went through to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Rosie's screech was loud and it rebounded of the picture windows and glass doors, echoing back in on them. John realised that there was no emotional state that a four-year-old could be in without making an almighty racket about it. Not his four-year-old anyhow. She was loudly happy, excited, sad, angry and everything else at every time. The only time she went quiet was when she was utterly terrified. He sometimes mused that if he kept her in a state of constant terror, his local shop would decrease its paracetamol sales by about half.

A couple of the other guests appeared a little perturbed that a small child had the audacity to make a happy sound in 'their' swimming pool and they had quickly disappeared, leaving the pool just for them. John felt that any complaints would fall on deaf ears. They weren't down here too early; Rosie had woken a little later than usual, and John had ordered a mountain of breakfast to be delivered to their room, so she'd been happily distracted by that for a while. He'd checked on Sherlock who was lying perfectly still on the bed in the next room. He was either still thinking, asleep or dead. John had considered poking him with something to check, but in the end, he left him to be naturally woken by his noisy, excited child.

He had joined them, fully dressed and dishevelled while Rosie was bouncing around naked waiting for John to find her swimming costume, occasionally stopping to stare at something colourful on the TV. Sherlock had been ordered to wash and dress properly, and John had left him eating a pile of fried food like a lord.

Rosie laughed and squealed and splashed in the water. She wind had blown away, taking Rosie's bad-temper with it, and the sunlight flooded into the room through the huge windows, bouncing of the water and shining on Rosie's wet and golden curls.

'Ready to take your armbands off?' John asked.

'No!'

Rosie liked to keep them on. It gave her an element of independence where she could (and did) swim away from her annoying father. John, however, had only reluctantly allowed armbands in the first place, reasoning that she needed to get used to the feel of herself in the water in order to learn to swim. Then he'd relented when he realised that he couldn't leave her alone at all and that he was, just slightly, worried about her drowning if he accidentally let go.

'One more go then...' Because there was no swimming without a little bit of a swimming lesson.

He hopped backwards and let her splash to him as if she really was doing it by herself.

Sherlock then arrived by the side of the pool, looking utterly ridiculous in his full Sherlock get-up in the bright light room.

'I think that your animal suggestion is still possible,' he called. 'It's frustrating because I can't see it clearly.'

'Are we getting a pet?' Rosie asked, excited.

'No, not yet.'

'But we could get... we could get a little, tiny mouse even!'

'Not yet,' John said. He gave Sherlock a bit of a glare.

Rosie swam away and then spun in circles a metre away from him.

'I need to talk to you about chemical warfare,' Sherlock said. 'Your knowledge is superior to mine, and it didn't seem prudent to Google.'

'Instead, you wanted to shout about it across a large, echoing room?'

'Well I can't get in!' Sherlock gestured to his clothing.

John sighed and pushed Rosie gently to the poolside where Sherlock pulled her out of the water and wrapped a towel around her. She instantly complained.

'We'll be back in in a second,' John said.

'Do you mean a second, or a minute, or some more minutes?' Rosie had been learning precision from Sherlock.

'Maybe a minute,' John replied, knowing his daughter had no concept of the time. He took a second towel to rub at his hair.

'What do you want to know?' John asked.

'How much chlorine gas would be necessary to kill someone in a small area?'

'As in, the small area of the room that joins mine?'

'Yes. That is the small area in question.'

He sighed, some of his good mood lost with the reminder of Louisa's pain. 'If it was a strong enough dilution, then probably not a lot.'

'Could you be more specific?'

'If it was contained in liquid form, could be as little as 10 mils. Rosie! Don't run on the side!'

'As little as that?' Sherlock pushed.

'As little as that. Exposed to air it would revert to gas. Like I say, it'd have to be strong, and it'd have to be liquid when it was carried.'

Sherlock nodded slowly.

'How quickly would it dissipate?' he asked.

'That's a trickier question. The ceilings are high, and as soon as the door was opened it would start to dilute. It would still be creeping after the poor woman though. It took a short amount of time for Louisa and her stepmother to get to her sister, and longer for the rest of the people and longer still for the ambulance and the police. It would have diluted a fair amount by that time. There would be some floating around though.'

'The room wasn't secured for over twenty minutes following the attack,' Sherlock said. 'How much would be left then?'

'Some. Probably no longer enough to kill someone. They'd be choked a fair amount though.'

'In a thin, glass phial, which it would have to be to break easily, ten millilitres could weigh as little as gram? Such as it could be attached to a small animal?'

'It's possible. You'd want to be bloody careful with it though. I'd far rather attach it to a detonation devise and be a long way away.'

'But a donation devise would have to be large enough to be seen in a room, certainly any that could be bought by a regular member of the public.'

'Not in an untidy room.'

'No. Lu…Greg's fiancé's sister was tidy. Rosie! Don't run on the side!' She'd made it down to the end of the pool where there were doors leading into a garden lounge where rich people were richly enjoying the rich sunshine.

'I'm not!' she shouted back.

'I can quite clearly see you.'

Rosie stamped her way around to the corner where the large jacuzzi was.

'We have limited time,' Sherlock said, watching her. 'A detonation devise would surely be seen by the local police. They're not up to much down here, I shouldn't think, but they'd see a devise with a timer.'

'But whoever did it would have to be in the mother's room. So… the mother?'

'Maybe. There are a number of reasons why she might have slept through such a thing. So, someone else with a key.'

'Not Louisa, that's certain. The manager?'

'We can't go just listing names with no evidence to go with them.'

'Surely an animal would be just as likely as a detonation device to be spotted by the police. They couldn't possibly miss a dead animal with a glass phial stuck to it.'

'No, I agree. Not unless it was commonplace to find the animal in the family rooms.'

'Louisa!' Rosie squealed, as Louisa herself appeared through the doorway.

'Oh, I think you shouldn't run on the side of the pool,' Louisa said.

Rosie slowed to a sedate walk to Louisa who picked her up.

'Oh! You're all wet!' she said, laughing.

'I need to see the police report,' Sherlock murmured to John. 'I also need you to find out if there was a family pet.'

'Just drop that into the conversation, yes?'

'If you wouldn't mind.'

'I'm sorry to interrupt your swim,' Louisa said, reaching them. She put Rosie down again, who stayed dutiful and still right where she could hear any conversation that anyone else might want to have. 'I thought I might catch you here. Greg and I wanted to invite you a barbeque at our house for lunch. We thought we'd take a proper break from the planning for a few hours before I go actually mad.'

'Can we go, Daddy!' Rosie asked, swinging on Louisa's arm.

'I should probably have made the offer out of earshot,' Louisa said. 'I'm not used to little ones.'

'It's fine,' John said. 'She adores you, so you must be doing something right. At any rate, we'd love to come.'

'Sherlock?' she asked. 'Are you eating at the moment?'

'I'd love to see the inside of your house,' he said.

John frowned at him, but Louisa took it in her stride, clearly more used to Sherlock's than children.

'Look, Daddy! A parrot!' Rosie jumped to one of the large patio doors along the length of the pool room.

They all stopped to look.

The parakeet was bright green, and there was a yellow one behind it. As John looked, he spotted more and more birds, just dancing across between branch to branch of tiny birches and a lilac tree beyond.

'It's the musical garden,' Louisa said. 'Do you want to see?'

She unlocked one of the doors and opened it to step through. Immediately, one of the birds shot through the open door and flew around the top of the swimming hall.

'They're always doing that. We do try to get them back in, honestly. We got one in the restaurant once and that caused quite a lot of chaos and a fair amount of waiters standing on tables, uselessly flapping around. Henry got it, in the end, with a sheet. A sheet or a pillowcase are really the only way to go with these things.'

John stepped into the biggest aviary he'd ever seen. Far larger than the ones that lined London Zoo. It was set into the corner of the L shape where the edge of the hotel was joined to the swimming pool. In height it went all the way up to the top of the walls of the flat above the swimming pool, and there was a wrought iron, spiral staircase giving access from the flat straight into it. The walls were a gridded metal, thin and shining in the bright, June sunshine. It ran half the length of the swimming pool room and about the same distance outwards, covering some of the windows of the main house. Through them, John could see the bustle of people working in the kitchen. Inside there were small trees, silver birch and a lilac, and bushes and tall, colourful leafy plants. There was no extra heating in here – only sheltered areas. There was a shallow pond though, gurgling its way through a filter and bubbling off the pebbles on the bottom. There were stepping stones over it and as a path from one corner to the other. Rosie instantly shed her towel and started hopping over these.

The birds were all mixed together – elegant colourful ones next to fuzzy little things and something small but brown and speckled.

'What are those ones?' John asked, pointing.

'Asian Finches. They're my favourite,' Louisa answered.

'How quickly is the netting repaired?' Sherlock asked.

Over the top of the structure was a net, and there were signs that it had been torn and repaired on several occasions, particularly in the places where it had been caught on the tops of the trees.

'As quickly as we can,' Louisa replied. 'I know we sound like awful bird owners. We do try to keep them safe and well – they're fed and watered daily and the floor is swept out, and we do glance around to check there's nothing injured or ill. The net is difficult though, because it's so hard to access. None of it was here initially. My grandfather put just brought the birds in and hoped they'd stay in place just because we fed them. While they did, they also attracted all the foxes. I remember them coming in, when I was no older than Rosie here. Dad insisted on the fence and the net, but they still escape from time to time. Henry curses them daily. And, of course, there's about as many living outside the aviary as inside it now, what with them getting out and breeding.'

'And the hotel windows are often open and they live in the eaves and the gutters,' Sherlock said.

'And the chimneys,' Louisa agreed.

'Listen to all the bells!' Rosie cried.

John hadn't stopped listening to the bells since the moment he'd stepped through the door. All sorts of bells. Little tin ones hanging from branches, wind chimes everywhere with crystals that sent the sunlight flying in rainbows, and more, tiny hanging around the necks of some of the little birds – no larger than the tiny bells you'd find around a chocolate reindeer at Christmas.

He looked at Sherlock who looked back. There was a distinct eureka look on his face. John looked up at the hotel. The windows of Sherlock's suite were high above them.

'Why are there bells around their throats?' he asked.

'They're soothing, apparently,' Louisa said. 'We didn't know that until Mother moved in. As long as they're small and light, and elasticated so they snap rather than get caught on branches.'

'I never knew that,' Sherlock said. 'It might take a while for them to get used to carrying things around their necks, don't you think? I would have thought they'd be more soothed if they were silent and didn't have an audible alarm going off that cats and suchlike could hear.'

'The cats can't get in here though,' Louisa said. 'Oh, here's Mother! I'd like to introduce you!'

Louisa's mother descended a wrought-iron, spiral staircase leading from the apartments above the pool to the garden below. She was a handsome, well dressed woman in sensible shoes, and with her hair tied back in a loose bun.

'I should probably get a towel or something,' John muttered.

Sherlock smirked at him from the standpoint of being fully suited.

'Don't worry,' Louisa said, briskly overlooking his embarrassment. 'We have naturist weeks here sometimes.'

This did not soothe John.

'I thought I heard people down here!' Alison said, warmly. 'I'm glad it's you, Louisa, darling. I didn't want to push people out of here with a broom.'

'It's just me,' Louisa said. 'We lost one in the pool house unfortunately.'

'Just one? You're doing well then.'

She got to the floor and looked at the group.

'We don't like the guests going in here anymore,' she announced. 'Some of them were getting a bit boisterous and scaring the birds.' She glanced down at the hopping Rosie but didn't comment.

'Mother, these are my friends. John is Greg's best man on Saturday. And this is his friend, Sherlock.'

'Sherlock Holmes!' she cried. 'I'm a big fan!'

'Everyone is,' John said.

'I follow all of your stories,' she went on. 'I only wish there were rather more of them.'

'The current collection of criminals are certainly under-par both for quantity and quality.'

'Which is a crying shame all round,' John said.

'Well, I hope they've put you in the presidential suite,' she said.

'I've certainly been afforded a room that befits my station,' he said, sharing a smile with John.

'I'm glad,' she said. 'Now, Louisa, I have the make-up person arriving at three. You will be here at that time, I hope?'

'I certainly can be,' Louisa replied. 'I thought we were seeing her tomorrow though.'

'I rescheduled. That way we've got tomorrow for relaxing. I am a little worried that there's just too much for you right now.'

Louise looked genuinely grateful.

'I'm sorry I'm messing you around so much,' she said. 'I don't mean to be.'

'Not at all, darling. I changed the appointment myself, and you are the bride. You get to have things your way. I know it's hard for you,' she said, squeezing her step-daughter's hand. 'It wasn't until I spent an hour crying over it yesterday that I realised it must be weighing so much on you. I've had to start taking my pills again.' She took Louisa into a tight hug.

'Well, it's easier now,' Louisa said, from over her shoulder. 'I've talked it all through with Sherlock and John and I feel easier just for sharing. Maybe you should do the same. They're good listeners.'

Alison gave them a look that perhaps suggested she wouldn't have been so willing to share herself.

'Daddy,' Rosie whispered, loudly. 'I need a wee.'

'Well, I'd better get on that then,' John said. 'It was lovely to meet you. Next time I'll attempt to be better dressed.'

'Particularly if it's at the actual wedding,' Sherlock said.

John took Rosie by the hand and led her away.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Rosie hopped and skipped among the nice, high-backed armchairs which littered the foyer of the hotel. It was a large space with chairs sitting around coffee tables where people could sit and wait for preening detectives. There were tall, bay windows along the front facing wall, giving a nice view of the beautiful rose-garden and sweeping driveway. The wall at the further edge obstructed any sea view which was a shame, but as the sea was visible from pretty every other part of the hotel on that side, it didn't really matter. In one corner a set of double, patio doors gave access to the bowling green just to the side of the building. Rosie was intrigued but the 'flat garden' as she called it and John had already made a note to keep her as far from it as possible.

'Right, shall we go then?' Sherlock said.

John stood and startled. 'Good God! I hardly recognise you!'

'There's no need to be dramatic about it,' Sherlock muttered.

He'd found, from somewhere, a pair of khaki shorts and a t-shirt. He even had canvas plimsolls on. With socks, which John smirked at.

'Mrs Hudson packed it in a passive aggressive way,' he complained. 'Everything had its tag still in and there was a receipt with her bank details on it. I know her bank details. It was totally unnecessary!'

'Well, you certainly look better than you did in a black suit. Here, put some of this on.' He rooted through Rosie's bag for the sunblock.

'Why?' Sherlock asked.

'Because you burn walking past a sunny picture. Stop fighting everything and put it on.'

'I don't think Rosie should be bouncing on the chairs,' he returned.

'Oh, God!' John went to retrieve her while Sherlock pulled a face while smearing the sunblock on himself.

'I hate the summer,' he complained, when John re-joined him. 'There's too much sensation. The heat, the sweat, the greasy sunblock, the sand on your feet. The stupid t-shirts, one of which was stripy, by the way. It's annoying.'

'Yep, it's terrible,' John agreed, looking out onto the bright green grass of the lawn with the bees buzzing around the flowers in the border against the wall.

'Let's get this over with,' Sherlock said, repacking the cream.

'I thought you were looking forward to it!' John said.

'Only for the snooping value. As soon as that's done, the rest of the event will be tedious.'

'Maybe you'll get an early release for good behaviour,' John suggested. 'But you will have to be on your best behaviour.'

Sherlock growled.

'That's the spirit. Rosie Petal! Let's go!'

'Thank goodness!' she said, marching smartly towards the entrance. 'At last! You're too slow!'

'Oh, I forgot,' John said to Sherlock. 'Now listen carefully, it's important you get this right.'

'What now?'

'It's Louisa. Lou-i-sa. Not Lucy, Lucia, Lucinda or Julia. Louisa. OK?'

'OK. Louisa. I know. Now she's become a possible murder victim, it's easier to remember.'

John threw another prayer for patience up to the ceiling and followed him out.

oOo

Rosie bounced along on Sherlock's shoulders. He liked carrying her, as long as she'd dutifully used the toilet first to avoid a repeat of the British Museum Incident. John liked him carrying her too, because she was getting heavier and had a tendency to forget where she was and swing her legs against his chest. She was doing so now, for example, but Sherlock was oblivious while they wandered down the narrow, winding road. There was no pavement - the tarmac just ended at the edges with a little gutter, and then the stone walls came up on either side. When the occasional car approached, they had to walk single file; another reason John was glad Sherlock was carrying Rosie. Even there though, Sherlock was distracted enough that John needed to pull him in front of him to get out of the way every now and again.

'There are still so many questions,' he said. 'If she were used to hearing the sounds of bells, why did the ones at night disturb her so much?'

'I don't know. She was knackered and stressed…'

'Why?'

'Because all brides are. If she was already on edge, and she might well have been for a number of reasons, then the bells out of place might have shocked her. She and Louisa had listened out for them, remember? Late on Christmas Eve when actually hearing them might well have scared the hell out of them. You don't actually want to hear them.'

'Actually, bells would be easier,' Sherlock replied. 'If you had some kind of honing signal, you'd know precisely where to set your trap.'

John sniggered.

'There was another thing too,' Sherlock said. 'She heard the bells on two days before…'

'Oh! Look!' Rosie squealed. They stopped to find the point of interest. It might be anything from a rocket taking off to a sweet wrapper caught in a hedge. On this occasion, it seemed that she'd been attracted by a field containing two horses, one brown, and one a shaggy white. They looked interested in the little group of people and slowly wandered over. Sherlock sat Rosie down on the wide, stone wall to wait for them.

'So why did the bells ring the previous nights?' Sherlock asked.

'If I had such a crazy and dangerous plan,' John replied, 'I'd like to practise it at least once first. If the bell on its elastic collar was still on, that might go some way to disguise anything else that might have been tied around it. Maybe that's even how they were intending to break the glass. If it was that thin, perhaps a bell knocking it would be enough?'

'Maybe it wasn't,' Sherlock answered. 'Maybe that's why they had to try again, just waiting for the damned thing to break.'

'But how would they get the damned thing out?'

'I don't know. I think it's more likely that on the previous nights, the bird didn't get in the room in the first place. How possible would it be to prevent the blowback of the gas into the mother's room?'

'That could pretty much be done with a wet towel if it was well folded. One under the door, one over the vent. That would be the beauty of the bird; if you put a bird in a box and set it free at the vent, its instinct would be to fly out into the room and end up far enough away from the vent. Then it could drop its poison where you wanted it. A legged animal would have to be encouraged out. With a thin phial of liquid gas, you'd want to avoid shaking it around too much.'

'Not drop. It would have to be tied to a bird of that size; even one of the larger ones, which would probably be the first choice. It would break when the bird flew into a wall or a window.'

The white horse had reached the wall and Rosie was trying to work out how to either touch or steal it. Or possibly both.

'Here, Rosie,' Sherlock said. 'Hold your hand flat and stroke down its nose.' He took her hand to help her.

'Hello, horsey,' she said, quietly. 'Daddy? You know how we're getting me a pet…'

'No, I didn't _exactly_ say that…'

Sherlock put her back on his shoulders and they started up again.

'It's a woolly, dangerous plan,' Sherlock said. 'Do you know what I hate?'

'Oh lord,' John said. 'Let me see if I can get this. People, anywhere that's not London, the heat, the sand, the sea, sunblock… there was another…'

'People who try to be clever,' Sherlock said. 'They're almost always not.'

John grinned to himself.

oOo

'Here, Pimms.' Louisa said, putting a glass down on the wooden patio table where Sherlock was sitting under a huge picnic umbrella to shade from the sun. She sat down to join him for a while.

'Thank you.'

On arrival, Lestrade had handed Sherlock an iPad with the instruction to entertain himself while the grown-ups talk. He was certain this was a dig, but he couldn't be bothered to work out how. He sometimes just let John and Greg have their fun. He turned it off now and put it face down on the table. It had been impressed upon him how much better Louisa's day would be if she didn't see him reading case notes of her sister's murder. He personally thought that she'd want to know he was working on it, but the other two insisted. It was only when he found pictures of Katie's body that he finally accepted they might be right.

He looked out into the garden. It was wide and laid to lawn with short grass that was parched in the bright sun. The most interesting part of the garden was clearly the nice, brick-built barbeque, certainly as far as a four-year-old child might be concerned. The homeowners had clearly thought about this, and Lestrade was guarding it carefully while a sand-pit had been set up for Rosie in the opposite corner. It contained spades of different sizes, standing flags and a note at the side inviting shipwrecked heroes to find the buried treasure. Rosie was delighted and had found seven, beautiful marbles at the bottom of it. Sherlock was jealous that he hadn't thought of it first.

She'd abandoned that now and was riding her father around like a horse.

'There's an actual riding stable just north of here,' Louisa said. 'I'm getting better at not announcing these things in front of her.'

'Yes, that's good. I'll announce it in front of her tomorrow.'

Louisa laughed.

Sherlock watched John and Rosie. He bucked up to make her slide off, laughing. He then let her climb all over him.

'You know it's fascinating,' Sherlock said, 'I flatter myself that I'm an important in her life, but she revolves around him like a planet around the sun.'

Louisa smiled warmly at him. 'She does. It's lovely to see, isn't it? I know he found it hard at first.'

Sherlock stilled. He didn't like the idea that other people were so freely discussing John's difficulties during the early days.

'Well,' he muttered, 'he's clearly fine now.'

Louisa seemed to notice that he'd grown cooler, so she left him to stew while he went back to his notes. He was only given a brief rest before Lestrade interrupted him. He scowled up at these constant interruptions.

'I've really missed you,' Lestrade commented, taking Louisa's vacated seat. 'It's nice to see your happy, smiling face again.'

'Do you have a cat?' Sherlock asked.

'No.'

'Then why the catflap?'

'That was here when we bought the house. There was no cover for it, and the catch at the bottom that closes it is broken. It was one of the first things I noticed when we bought it, having some knowledge of personal security like I do. How did the rest of your snooping go on?'

'I wasn't snooping! I was looking.'

'It's fine. We knew it was going to happen.'

'You own a very nice and perfectly lovely or something property.'

'Thanks.'

John left Rosie making daisy-chains with Louisa and came to sit on another chair.

'How did you get Pimms?' he asked.

'I don't know. It just appeared.'

'I'll get you one in a second,' Lestrade said. 'The burgers are nearly done now too.'

'As are the case notes,' Sherlock said. 'There was no dead bird found in Katie's room.'

'Oh,' John said, disappointed.

'There were feathers though. A bird had been in the room after it had been vacuumed that day. Someone, at some point, had gone into the room and removed it, along with any larger shards of glass. It wasn't done well though, suggesting that the person clearing the room was incapacitated.'

'The mother was incapacitated,' John said.

'As was Henry who attended the scene before the ambulance arrived, as did another receptionist from the hotel, and Richard, the intended bridegroom' Sherlock said. He looked across at the womenfolk.

'And Louisa too,' Greg said, quietly.

'Only Henry and Richard were damaged badly enough to warrant hospital treatment,' Sherlock went on. 'Henry was released the following morning and Richard the day after that. There are several witness accounts saying that Henry certainly went into the room. Henry's account agreed with this and said he went in to open the windows, and that Richard went with him. No other account puts Richard in the room. The rest stayed at the hotel, the receptionist being only mildly hurt, and Louisa and her mother refused to leave Katie on her own.'

'So, Henry then,' John said.

'We still have no evidence that isn't circumstantial,' Sherlock said. 'So, we'll do what you always tell me to do.'

'Hm?'

Sherlock looked across at Louisa.

'Don't solve the murder. Save the life.'

oOo

John lay in the dark, unsettled.

The plan was simple. The Lestarde-Roylott house in the town would be guarded on the outside by Sherlock. He had spent quite some time at the barbeque working out the approach route for any murderer carrying a birdcage, and he could hide perfectly adequately inside the garden, waiting for them. He would be armed with John's gun, but was not intending to use it unless it became utterly necessary, which none of them foresaw.

He would wait until the expected murderer arrived, then would restrain them and wait for Lestrade to complete the arrest.

Lestrade himself would be waiting in the kitchen by the cat-flap that they'd all tried to lock. There would be a breadboard set against it, but for extra security, there would also be a Lestrade sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, watching it, ready with a broom to get anything that came in out again.

Louisa would be in bed, hopefully oblivious to all of this, with all the windows securely closed. They all recognised that there was a chance she'd wake up in the heat, but it would just have to do. If she did wake up, her conveniently placed fiancé would just have to make soothing sounds until she went back to sleep.

John would be in his hotel room with Rosie, sitting on his bed feeling annoyed that he was not a part of the plan. He was playing his part brilliantly.

Sherlock was sending occasional text updates, but these were more usually random questions about plants or tides which just served to make John more annoyed.

Rosie would be sleeping next to him in the big bed. She was also playing that part brilliantly, which actually did please him.

His phone had been silent for over an hour, and he was considering giving it all up as a bad job and going to sleep, ready to hear all about it in the morning. Just as he was drifting off, he heard, at the edge of his hearing, a tiny, tinkling bell.

He shot up and listened again. There was silence for a good five minutes, and then the bell. He and Sherlock had left the chest of drawers away from the vent, and he stared at it now, and he watched with a chill running through his spine, as the top right-hand screw started to slowly turn.

He turned, wrapped Rosie in a blanket and pulled her over his shoulder.

'Daddy...' She moaned, sleepily.

'Shhh, little girl,' he whispered back.

He forced his hands to be steady as he unlocked his door, darted silently across the corridor and cursed the few seconds that it took to unlock Sherlock's door, then ran across the room, pulling a pillow from the bed as he went.

'Daddy...' Rosie said again.

'It's OK, darling girl,' he murmured to her.

He shot into Sherlock's bathroom and locked the door after him.

Sherlock's suite was _fine._ It would do. John shouldn't feel guilty for having the better suite. It was _fine_.

But the key, critical difference between his and John's was that he had a bathroom on the external wall that was served by a window that opened rather than a central one with an extractor fan. John put Rosie down. She was shivering now, as she stood on the floor.

'Daddy!' She whined.

'It's OK, sweetie. We're just playing a game now. Hide and seek. You have to stay quiet.' He rolled a bath towel up and jammed it into the crack at the bottom of the door.

'I don't want to play!' she whinged. 'I want to sleep!'

'OK, sweetheart. It's OK. I'm going to make you up a special bed, right here in the bathtub. Won't that be a funny story? Sleeping in a bathtub all night?'

She started to grizzle. John leant over the bath to open the top window, then he quickly lay down towels and a pillow on the bottom of the bathtub. He put Rosie in it, and settled her under the blanket from his bed. He knelt beside her and stroked her head until she went back to sleep.

Then he sat on the lidded toilet and stared at the door.

He stared at the door for nearly two hours. He startled as he finally heard the sound of Sherlock bellowing.

'John! John!'

'I'm here!' He croaked, then he cleared his throat and called more clearly. 'I'm here! Is it safe out there?'

'It is.'

John unlocked the door, and Sherlock almost tripped on the towel on the floor trying to get in.

'Oh, thank God!' he said, looking into the bathtub at Rosie who was beginning to stir again. 'She's all right?'

'She is. She's fine. So, the house was clear?'

'No. The mother was at the house. I got her in the garden about two hours ago, but we've been processing it all. I came back to tell you about it and found the dead bird your bedroom floor and a foul stench in the air. When was he here?'

'He?'

'Yes. Henry Sheffield.'

'The manager?'

'The same.'

'So not the mother?'

'No!' Sherlock said, impatiently. Rosie stirred again, so Sherlock pulled John by the wrist into the bedroom. 'I've already explained that she was at the house!'

'Well forgive me for not being incredibly attentive right now!'

Sherlock softened. 't was a combined affair. Both of them needed compliance from the other in order to get the job done. That's why I couldn't see it. Stupid! Stupid! The animosity between them was getting in the way, but I should have known better.'

'So, he was here while she was down at the house?'

'That's exactly it.'

'Right. God!' He leant dizzily back against the wall. 'God!' He kicked at the floor. 'I just wanted to bring my daughter to be a bridesmaid at my friend's wedding!' he hissed. 'I just wanted that!'

'I know,' Sherlock said, softly.

'Daddy!' Rosie called.

'All right. I'm here, poppet.' He went back to pick her up out of the tub.

'I don't want to sleep in the bath,' she said. 'I want to sleep in your bed, with you.' She wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her sleepy little face against his chest.

'All right, poppet,' he said.

The sun was already beginning to rise, but he felt that if he could get any further sleep at all, he should take advantage of that. Sherlock nodded towards his own bed.

'See,' he said. 'I told you I'd got the better room. I'll come back later.'


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

John was pleased that he managed the two hours' sleep. Sometimes two hours' sleep was enough. At other times, it was all he was allowed and he just had to deal with that. Rosie woke him by actually slapping him on the face. He didn't think it was quite deliberate, but Rosie did have an air of purpose to her.

'Can we go and have breakfast now?' she asked. 'I'm too hungry.'

'OK. Let's see what we can find.'

He shuffled up to discover that his bags had been hastily repacked and brought into Sherlock's room. He was too tired to think through whether this would louse up crime scene analysis. He was just pleased to have something to wear. He put Rosie into clothes without bothering to bathe her and they went, hand in hand, to the dining room.

The atmosphere in the hotel was subdued. John noticed the staff doing their level best to be smiling and cheerful with the customers while looking worried or upset. Some were excitedly gossiping and there were one or two heads he'd like to bang together.

He'd just finished a large bacon sandwich and coffee while Rosie got to have breakfast cake (muffins) and milk in a tea-cup when Lestrade came in and dropped onto a chair at his table. A waiter who looked little more than a child rushed to serve him coffee, but Lestrade barely acknowledged him. He looked as depressed as John had ever seen him.

He waited for him to finish his coffee.

'Let's take Rosie for a walk in the grounds,' John said.

Lestrade dutifully followed him outside. They let Rosie run and jump ahead of them, occasionally stopping to run her little fingers over the delicate petal of a flower. Her mood remained exuberant and delighted by the world, and John noted Lestrade's eyes misting up as he watched her. They rounded the corner to the side of the hotel to find Sherlock sitting on a bench. He had a cigarette in his hand, but he stubbed it out as soon as Rosie appeared. He also looked thoroughly guilty that he'd been caught. Lestrade didn't even seem to notice as he sat down beside him.

'God,' he said, eventually. 'What a mess.'

'Where's Louisa now?' John asked sitting down with them.

Lestrade just shrugged. 'Somewhere about. She's spent the morning either comforting or being comforted. Annoyingly more of the former than the latter. Aida, the chef, she's distraught as she can be. She'd been having an affair with him. Had no idea.'

'I don't understand!' John said. 'I can see the mother's motive, but I can't see manager's!'

'That was also a love affair,' Sherlock said. 'Apparently, they had quite a love/hate thing going on and have done for quite some time. Promises were made. Sex was had. Henry was very popular indeed with quite a long list of the staff. At least two receptionists and a cleaner are sobbing over the bastard.'

'I still don't understand,' John said. 'There must have been ample opportunities to kill either one of the girls, but to choose to wait until just before the weddings? Why would anyone do such a thing?'

'Maybe more people than just Sherlock hate weddings,' Lestrade said, sniffing, and looking that if it weren't for Rosie turning cartwheels on the grass, he'd be begging a cigarette from Sherlock.

'No, it wasn't about the wedding; it was about the marriage,' Sherlock said. 'Alison had been well set up here. She'd been allowed to live in the house, have staff at her command, she was even drawing a salary, and neither daughter questioned it. Marriages complicated things. What if the new men wanted their wives to make more of the estate? What if there were children? What if they wanted to sell the place and start afresh?'

'I can certainly see the appeal,' Lestrade said. 'I don't half feel guilty that I put her in such danger. No, no,' he waved their protests away. 'I know I didn't. But I also feel that I did.'

'Alison's place here grew less secure the more people there were in the family,' Sherlock went on. 'That's undoubtedly why she wanted to wedding here, and not in London.'

'What will you do now?' John asked Lestrade.

'I don't know,' Lestrade said. 'I want to marry her right now. I'm terrified that she's going to want to postpone, but at the same time, I just want to drive her down to London had get married in a registry office. I just want her now, you know? I want to be her husband, and I want her to be my wife. I honestly don't care about all of this.' he waved at the hotel. 'I never have. It's not important. Not to me, at any rate. It bothers me how much it eats away at her though. I just want to take her away from it.' He blew out a long breath. 'At the end of the day, I'll do whatever makes her happiest.'

Rosie skipped towards them with something in her hands.

'Rosie petals for you!' she said, dropping some into John's hands, 'and for you, and for you!' as Sherlock and Lestrade got theirs. 'I'm being a flower girl!'

'Rosie,' Lestrade said. 'You are a very lovely girl. Thank you.'

'Though you probably shouldn't pick the petals from the roses,' John added.

'Mr Lestrade!' One of the concierges was pelting towards them from behind the hotel. 'Mr Lestrade! I think you need to… in the musical garden.'

Lestrade was up and after him with Sherlock on his heels. John picked up Rosie and ran with her, only realising halfway there that he probably shouldn't carry her to where trouble might be.

Fortunately, the trouble was fairly contained. Louisa was in the aviary, the door to the garden left wide open. She was wildly kicking at one of the wall panels. It was coming away slightly from its hinge, but not breaking free as yet. Lestrade went straight in, with Sherlock too, in case he was needed. John stayed where he was, keeping Rosie still.

He'd expected Lestrade to pull her into her arms to comfort her, but instead he stood by her side and kicked with her. His strength and weight got the job done, and the panel fell, bent and broken, to the floor.

Then Louise stopped, and then Lestrade held her while she sobbed.

'I don't know what to do!' she wailed. 'I'm so tired of it now!'

'I know,' Lestrade said, rocking her. 'I know. It's fine if you want to wait. We can take a little break. That's fine.'

'No,' she said. 'I just want to be married to you now! You're the one thing that makes sense in all of this!'

'Then we'll do that. OK? Take a deep breath now. Let's go back to the house, and we'll start calling registry offices in London or something. Or anywhere else. It doesn't matter to me. I don't even care if there's nobody else in the room! I just want to be married to you.'

Louisa took several deep breaths and went still.

'No,' she said. 'Let's not run away. This is my home! I was happy here! My parents and sister are buried in the grounds of the church I was confirmed in. The one I want to be married in. I want to be married in front of them. Is that morbid?'

'No,' Lestrade said, gently.

'I just want to get back all that I've lost somehow.'

'Then we can work towards that. Come on now. Let's just go somewhere and sit down in peace for a bit.'

She nodded and leant against him.

Sherlock was staring at them with that look he got when people were behaving in a way that he really didn't understand. John caught his eye and signalled him and he left the lovers where they were and came back out of the aviary and he and John walked slowly back to the front of the hotel.

'So, tell me again,' Sherlock said. 'Why, weddings?'

'No, you tell me this first; why did Henry come after me and Rosie?'

'Oh, he didn't. He's horrified now that he may have hurt Rosie, though he's less bothered about you. No, he was coming after me. It appears that he and Alison agreed that having me around might just cause problems with their plans.'

'But in my room? He was the manager! How would he not have known where we were sleeping?'

'He thought we'd switched. He came up yesterday morning and found me finishing breakfast and wandering around like I owned the place. Apparently, he assumed I might have had a tantrum and insisted on it. The mother also assumed I'd installed myself in the better room with some overblown sense of arrogance. I don't know why so many people misunderstand me!' He sighed. 'In any case, they came after me and not you.'

'Right.'

'Which obviously goes to show that you should always give me the better room.'

'Right.'

oOo

John watched Sherlock dance with Rosie. He got the impression that both thought they were dropping their skill level to accommodate the other. Mostly it was twirling. Twirling, laughing and some fairly impressive and surprising footwork from Sherlock that Rosie honestly thought she was copying foot for foot.

Molly came over and dropped down onto the seat beside him.

'You OK?' she asked.

'Mm.' He didn't look away from Rosie and Sherlock. 'You know, everything in my world is right there.' Then he startled and looked her. 'God, sorry! I don't know why weddings turn me soppy.'

'It's probably just that you had one and then…' she tailed off. 'Forget I started talking.'

He laughed. 'No, it's fine. And I still have those two. It's not as good as three, but it's still pretty good, when you think about it.'

'Yes. He doesn't make it easy, you know.'

'Mm?'

'Not to have a massive crush on him.'

'Oh dear. Still?'

'Yes, still. I've come to the conclusion that there'll never be a time when I'm not in love with him. But I'm also sort of OK with that.'

'Well, I think it's a bit of a shame.'

She jumped and looked at him. 'Really?'

'Oh, not for you, you understand. You should do and be whatever makes you happy, though personally I think you could do better. No, it's that young man over there that I'm thinking of. He can't take his eyes off you. He's going to go home lonely, and that's for sure.'

'John!' She pushed him gently. She also smiled at the young man.

They sat and watched the room for a while.

'I think I'm just going to refresh my drink,' Molly said. She went to the bar via the young man, and she took him with her.

Sherlock came over now, with Rosie hanging off him.

'I think we're tired now,' he said.

'I'm not tired!' Rosie said.

'Well, obviously, you're not tired,' Sherlock said. He sat down and pulled her onto his lap. 'I am though. I think I need to go to bed. Will you come with me?'

The fact that his daughter had nearly been murdered in the Presidential Suite finally broke John, and he requested a change of room from the acting manager. He and Sherlock had been installed in another set of rooms with an adjoining door so that Rosie could walk from room to room and sleep in whichever bed so suited her that night.

She narrowed her eyes now. 'Is this some sort of a trick?' she asked.

'A little trick, yes. It's very late now though, and we've got a long day of playing on the beach ahead of us tomorrow, so I think I should come up to bed with you, and leave Daddy here to drink with his friends.'

He looked up to watch Greg and Louisa dance together, arm in arm, just rocking to the music. Lestrade looked as though he'd never let his wife go again.

'They will be all right, won't they?' Sherlock asked, gently.

'They will,' John replied. 'It's always hard when you find out that someone wants to kill your wife, but both would-be murderers are safely away, and Louisa is both strong and kind. With that, and Lestrade protecting her, that'll probably be enough.'

'I'm glad,' Sherlock murmured. 'He's a good man.'

'He is,' John replied. 'I'm glad too.'

They watched them dance a little longer, then Sherlock picked up the drooping Rosie and carried her up to bed.


End file.
